


Just Like A Pill

by PrincessMisery86



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, F/M, Hurt, Implied Smut, Relationship Struggles, Smut, witch curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22347022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMisery86/pseuds/PrincessMisery86
Summary: Y/N has no choice but to go to the Winchester’s for help. But after ditching Dean at the Christmas Market and still not having spoken how will it go down? Will they finally say all the things that need to be said?Warnings: Angst, language, mild smut, mention of Dean dying, Demon!Dean mentioned.W/C: 4.2k (inc. lyrics)Notes: Sequel to “In Spite Of What My Heart Says”. Don’t need to have read it but it’s got some smutty Dean goodness in it 😜Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Y/N (she/her).Pairing: Dean x Y/N (she/her)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & You, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Princess Misery A-Z Song Fic Challenge





	Just Like A Pill

**Author's Note:**

> Hey and welcome! So to make a long story short, I have progressive hearing loss in my left ear (I have lost 80% of my hearing so far.) Docs say my right ear will also start to deteriorate, there’s no explanation for it and it’s irreversible. I’m not looking for sympathy, it is what it is. But it does mean I have been listening to a shit ton of music lately, every chance I get, which is sparking inspiration for fics. So I’ve set myself a challenge (thanks for the idea @negans-lucille-tblr and @firefly-in-darkness) to write a fic based on a song for every letter of the alphabet.   
Notes:  
I have a few ideas already but don’t have any set completion date, I will write and post as they come to me.   
Fics will more than likely be for Supernatural or Jensen/Jared but will make sure to label accordingly.   
There’s no specific music genre - I listen to everything, rock, pop, hip hop, r’n’b, rap, dance, metal, house, garage, I will listen to anything if I like it.   
Welcome to send me some ideas.   
It may be a whole song that I take inspiration from or just a certain line or lines. Lyrics will be in each post.   
Posting to Tumblr too - @PrincessMisery666

## Just Like A Pill

**6 Months Ago. **

_The motel room smelled of damp and mold. Though she’d been there for four nights it still hit her like a brick wall every time she walked into the room. She threw the key onto the table and flicked on the light. Y/N swore to herself she would take a couple of days off, soon. She’d check into a hotel, one with a spa, room service and a bed she could drown in._

_She slowly peeled off her jacket, carefully pulled it down her left arm, and hissed as it scraped over the new slash on her bicep. It needed stitching. The jacket was a lost cause, the leather wouldn’t be mended._

_She dropped into the nearest chair in the kitchenette. She still felt winded from the fight with the wendigo, but maybe that was the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. The thought of stitching herself up always made her stomach churn, but she’d do it. She had no choice. She just wished Dean was there. He’d have fixed her up and made her laugh as he did it, soothing her pain-filled winces with kisses. _

**Let it go, Y/N! He’s gone.**

_Her phone rang in the pocket of the jacket she’d left on the floor, and she considered ignoring it. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, or ready for Garth to send her onto another case. _

_She rose slowly, walked tiredly to retrieve it and puffed out an annoyed breath when it stopped ringing the second she lifted the jacket from the floor. She fished it out and just as she pressed the screen to check the identity of the missed call it sprang to life again. _

Sam W Incoming Call.

_“What now, Sam?” she asked the ringing phone without answering. She didn’t want more Dean updates, didn’t need to hear Sam’s dejected and hurt tone when he told her another ‘lead’ had led to nothing but another questionable thing Sam had had to do._

_Y/N felt guilty every time she spoke to Sam, after Dean had died she’d bailed on him. When Sam told her he turned into something she wanted to hunt, she’d hung up on him. Ignored him for days after. Still Sam had kept her updated on all things Demon Dean. At first she had thought it was because he wanted her to talk him out of the things he was willing to do like Dean would have, but Sam was smart. It didn’t take him long to realize she was selfish, more selfish than him, and she’d wanted Dean back just as much. She’d never told him, and never planned to, but she’d done a number of questionable things to find her ex-lover too. So Sam called, with every cold lead, delivered the bad news and more of the same. Until he hadn’t. _

_“Hey Sam,” she answered with a smile she didn’t feel._

_“Hey Y/N!” his enthusiasm and upbeat smile was unmistakable. Sam was happy, something she hadn’t heard in a long time. He didn’t give her time to ask what he wanted or request he not deliver more bad news. Excitement took over and he beamed, “I found him. He’s home. Dean’s Dean again. He’s cured.”_

_She forgot how to breathe, how to talk. Dean’s smug, cock-sure smile flashed in her mind’s eye and it was all she could focus on. She’d never seen his battered and bruised body but nevertheless, the image had haunted her since Sam had delivered the news of his death. She’d tried to remember him alive and handsome. Hazel eyes sparkling with laughter or simmering with anger but she never could. His lifeless form had been all she could see, but now… _

_“Y/N?” Sam questioned. _

_She tried to talk but a choked squeak was all she managed before she cleared her throat. “Yeah. um- Okay. Yeah – thanks for letting me know.” _

_Sam laughed, amused. “He wants to speak to you.”_

_“No! Sam –” _

_It was too late. She heard the shuffle as the phone was passed over and then Dean’s soft, almost shy, tone greeted her. “Hey Y/N.”_

_“Shit!” she pulled the phone from her ear as if his voice had bitten it and jabbed her finger on the end call button so hard she was surprised she hadn’t cracked it. She stared at the screen until it faded to black. “Fuck!”_

**Present Day**

That had been the last phone conversation she’d had with Dean – if she could even call it a conversation. Hanging up on someone didn’t equal a conversation. She’d avoided every call from both Winchester’s thereafter.

Almost six months she’d gone without having contact with either of them. Three weeks ago Dean had shown up at that damn Christmas market. She’d screwed him and then ran. Ignored every one his calls and text after too, deleted his voicemails as soon as she heard his voice. Ditched Sam’s calls, only spoke to Garth if he promised on his life he wouldn’t send the Winchester’s anywhere near her location.

But now she needed help.

The dial tone rang through the car speakers and she held her breath. Y/N couldn’t call Dean, not after everything, and ask him to help her. She didn’t have the right.

“Hey Y/N,” Sam answered sooner than she expected. 

“Hey Sam,” replied Y/N. 

Sam owed her nothing either, after all she’d abandoned him too. Dean had died and she’d been too distraught to stick around. She’d left when Sam needed her. 

“Everything okay?” 

“No,” she sighed softly, “witch, curse.” she knew Sam would need no further explanation but asked regardless, “I need your help. Please.”

“Okay, can you get to the bunker?” 

Going to the bunker was a bad idea, she knew it was, and the thought of driving toward it on the road she’d used to run in the opposite direction after Dean had become his demon self felt like a cruel punishment. 

Sam sensed her hesitation, “Y/N, come on. We have the best library, ingredients, warding. This is the best place for you.”

Reluctantly she agreed.

*********-*-*-*-*-*

Dean was at the library table when Sam led Y/N in. His hand involuntarily flexed to a fist before he relaxed it, though he couldn’t stop the glare he shot her. He’d been pissed since she’d run back at the Christmas market. Hadn’t realised how angry he was until she was there staring back at him. She’d basically used him, took advantage of the way he felt about her to get what she wanted from him then fled, talk about a hit and run.

Though, hadn’t he done the same thing to hundreds of women? Maybe it was the bitter taste of his own medicine that he disliked.

Y/N’s heart stopped just before her feet did. Dean looked livid, gorgeous and glaring; light khaki colored henley, sleeves rolled up, his hand flexed, clenched into a fist for a split second before he caught himself and relaxed. Though his eyes, that snapped to look at her, held the anger his hand didn’t want to portray. His mouth held no smile, rosy pink lips, surrounded by a days worth of hair growth, motionless. 

He was pissed, with her, because of her, at her. Whatever. She agreed he had a right to be. She’d avoided him for months, then when he’d finally caught up to her she’d fucked him then ran without giving him the chance to talk when that’s all he’d ask of her. A chance to say all the things that had been left unsaid. 

Still, it didn’t give him the right to look at her like that. Like he wanted to fuck her into submission, and throttle her – not in the good way she liked – but enough so she’d be unable to flee, again, to give her no choice but to listen to whatever he had to say. And if Sam hadn’t been in the room she probably would have let him do both. Because _damn_, that look did things to her. The frustration radiated from him in waves, she felt it. Deep, pure and, she agreed, warranted. 

_Fuck! This was a bad idea. A monumentally bad idea. _

She’d called Sam, not him. That fuelled his seething indignation. She needed help and Sam had been who she turned to. Maybe it was because now that Bobby was gone, Sam was the next best walking encyclopaedia. Whatever. But that annoyed him too, had things changed so much so she was unwilling to ask him for help? His eyes had been black for a while, but now they weren’t, so why was everything so different and strained now? 

His eyes travelled from hers, saw the fresh stitches that crisscrossed the sore red line that stretched from below her right ear and stopped just before the centre of her throat. His anger toward her ebbed, redirected to whoever had caused the injury. 

Why had Y/N let Sam talk her into going to the bunker? That was right, because in addition to the bunker holding the biggest array of research material, she was a glutton for punishment. And just as irresistible as the eldest Winchester’s ‘I’m-pissed’ look was the youngest’s puppy dog eyes (even imagining them when she spoke to him on the phone) held the same weight. 

Dean’s eyes, that she’d witnessed turn black, if only briefly, took in the latest addition to her body and his anger seemed to wane, and she saw him – or did she feel it again? – when he began to sympathize. 

“I’ll make some fresh coffee,” suggested Sam, flashing them both an awkward smile. “Then we can get started.” 

Sam had never been subtle, it was more than apparent he was giving them a minute alone. 

“Make mine Irish,” requested Y/N as Sam walked away. She dropped her heavy duffle on the floor and pulled out the chair across from Dean. She smiled in his direction, without actually looking at him and lowered herself into the seat. “Hey.” 

“Hey?” His eyebrows shot into his hairline, scornfully he glared at her. 

She rolled her eyes. _Here we go_. “Hey, hi, hello, Aloha, Ola, take your pick,” she spat furiously, “but yeah it’s all I’ve got.”

He felt his jaw tick, that _fucking _eye roll. He hated it. Always had. It made him want to chew her out for being a bitch and fuck her until all she could do was roll her eyes. Dean’s breathing increased, his chest heaved as he tried to hold his tongue. Though he failed, miserably, “I guess it’s better than silence.” 

Y/N stared him down, felt her pulse quicken as her anger bubbled below the surface. She didn’t understand the depth of her fury. She had never been mad at him, she’d meant it when she told him she didn’t blame him for his demon phase. She had been angry but because she understood why he took on the mark in the first place, and she wished she hadn’t. She had always known Dean would sacrifice himself for the greater good, it was something she loved about him. When it really mattered, he’d do what needed to be done, regardless of how hard the choice was to make. So why did she feel like throwing herself across the table and punching him?

“I knew I shouldn’t have come,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Can we not, Dean, please?”

“You just want to break the curse and leave again right?”

She pursed her lips it was an accusation not a question and she didn’t want to fight.

“Another hit and run, huh? Take what you want and leave.”

“Look you wanna be pissed at me for screwing you then bailing, go ahead,” she growled at him. Sam entered and she saw him freeze as he reached the top step, clearly debating whether to make himself scarce or not. But she continued anyway, “You wanna feel sorry for me cause I fucked up and got myself cursed, fine. You want to be all annoyed ‘cause I called Sam and not you, that’s your prerogative, just do it quietly so we can find a cure.” 

“I thought I was doing it quietly,” he frowned, shuffling forward on his chair, intrigue taking over his anger. “How did you know all that?”

Her eyes darted left and right as she searched her memory for the answer. The Witches words echoed around her brain – “_Feel the pain you inflict. Understand the hurt you cause._”

“Fuck!” It made sense now. Why she’d got so angry at Dean when she’d never been angry before. She wasn’t angry, he was, she was feeling what he felt. “I thought it was physical.”

“What’re you talking about?” Sam asked placing the mugs on the table. “What was physical?” 

Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out her favourite serrated knife with the ivory handle. “The curse,” she explained holding her hand out, palm up, asking for Sam’s. He eyed the knife she held in her other hand. “I need to test something,” she elaborated, “I’ll keep the damage minimal.” 

Sam clenched his jaw but put his hand in hers. She used the smooth edge of the blade to slice a small cut across the pad of his middle finger. The same crimson line that spread across Sam’s finger replicated on her own that held him in place. 

“Yeah I could have just said it,” Y/N said as if she’d read his mind, “I didn’t need to demonstrate.” 

Sam’s jaw slackened and his brow pulled into confusion. “How did you–” he stopped mid-sentence as realization dawned on him. “It’s a harm curse, you feel the pain you inflict.” 

Y/N nodded affirmation. “I thought it was purely physical harm but I literally felt everything Dean felt and I knew _why _he felt it then the same with you just now. It’s emotional pain too.”

Sam smiled and she felt the sympathy behind it. Dean was uncharacteristically quiet and she dared to look at him. He held her eyes and she knew she had to bite the proverbial bullet. There was no way they would find a remedy to the curse without first hashing it out with the sullen hunter. It would only erupt into a fight if they didn’t address it. 

She focused on Dean, her jaw taut as she spoke, “Let’s do this then. Once and for all.”

He shrugged, “I’ve been ready for a long time, sweetheart,” said Dean, a shit-eating grin spreading over his lips. “It’s you who’s been avoiding me, remember?”

“I’m gonna go call Rowena, grab some ingredients I think we might need,” Sam announced before Y/N could respond. “Give you two some time.”

*-*-*-*-

Silence prevailed long after Sam had departed. Dean chose to drink, Y/N chose to sit and wait for him to chew her out, lay all the shit on her he’d wanted to say for months. But to her surprise, she was the one who began to talk. 

“I still feel like I’m lying on that motel floor where you left me,” admitted Y/N, not meeting his eye but instead running her nail back and forth through a dent in the table. Dirt and dust had accumulated there and she scraped it out absentmindedly as her mind reeled back. 

_She’d been preparing weapons to go after Metatron, laying them on the bed in the motel room. Guns, angel blades, demon blade, potions, spells, Enochian rituals, a list of ingredients still required sat on the small off white table in the small kitchenette. She was adding to the list when she heard the door open, “Hey babe,” she called happily, “I’m almost –”_

_Dean’s serious expression and the purposeful stride were enough to shut her up even before he clasped her face and kissed her. It was a bruising kiss, too hard, with too much pent up emotion and she knew it was because he was saying goodbye. He released her after a moment and pulled back, tears streaked his cheeks highlighting the freckles beneath them, green eyes shimmering behind fresh tears. _

_“Dean, – ow!” she winced, bringing a hand to her neck as he pushed the plunger of the needle down and pulled it free quickly._

_“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said between his tears. “But you can’t come with us, not this time.” _

_“What did you –” she couldn’t seem to talk and fight the battle to keep her eyes open. It was one or the other and she chose to keep her eyes locked on him. It was the end, she needed to remember everything about him. She felt she’d always known that’s how it would end. The only way it could end, it seemed to be the Winchester way. Felt like sacrifice and deception had been the theme of her relationship with Dean. They bent until they broke, then they fixed one another. But wasn’t that how she knew it was real? If love hurt, it meant it was real, right? _

_“It’s just something to knock you out,” he explained. “By the time you wake up, it’ll be over.” Dean kissed her again, though she couldn’t be sure. She felt numbness take over as she fought to stay awake. _

_She felt the motion of the movement, realised he was half leading but mostly carrying her to the bed. _

_“I’m so sorry, baby, but there was no other way.” _

_Y/N was floating, or at least it felt that way, everything was horizontal. She was looking up at the cloud-filled sky or was it the mold stained ceiling? Pressure on her lips again, the tingle of whispered words against her ear. “I’m sorry. I love you.” _

_The slam of a door woke her momentarily and her senses caught up long enough to realise he’d left. She found control of her limbs again and tried to sit up, told her brain to swing her legs off the bed but whatever he had given her made the command fuzzy. She only succeeded in falling to the floor. _

_Y/N untangled her limbs and willed herself to crawl. Her whole body itched, her head was heavy, it took all her might to keep her neck up. She managed to move half a foot before fatigue overtook her and she crumbled to the floor. _

“You said ‘by the time you wake up, it’ll be over,’” she repeated his promise. “And you were right, it was. You were dead.” 

Dean took his empty glass to the drink station, refilled his own and poured half a glass for Y/N. “I didn’t know that was how it would end.” 

“I know that,” she said to his back. “I know I was supposed to be strong, to carry on without you, help Sam but – I’m not made of stone, Dean,” she reminded him. “I know I could be cold sometimes, heartless even. But losing you – it broke me. So I ran, as fast and as far as I could.” 

“I get it,” said Dean returning to the table with the drinks, sliding hers across to her. “I did the same when Sam went to hell. I shut everyone out, I closed off. But why didn’t you come back when Sam cured me?” 

She drank half the burning liquid and met his eyes as if to make sure they remained hazel while she explained. “You turned into a fucking demon and you forgot me! You left Sam a note, even demon you knew Sam would come after you. But me?” she scoffed, “I had so little effect on you, meant so little to you that even black-eyed you didn’t think I cared enough to warn me off saving you.”

“That’s not true,” He swallowed a large gulp of whiskey turned his head to look at her. “I – demon me wanted you. Asked Crowley if there was a way to turn you, but you’d still be you. He didn’t want just your body, refused to let some random demon take your body for a joyride. He wanted you, the real you, with eyes to match his.”

Stunned by his confession she stared back at him. He cocked his brow nodding, “yeah you heard me, sweetheart. I didn’t want you to save me. I wanted you beside me, howling at the moon and annoying the shit out of Crowley. Even with eyes as black as night, soulless. I wanted you.” 

She shied from his confident gaze. Found a new groove to clean out on the pocked wooden surface. “So why didn’t you come get me?” Shame kept her focus on the table because she knew she’d have given herself to Dean. Even when his eyes weren’t flecked with gold, even when she’d only see herself reflected back in the oil that drowned his she’d have willingly been whatever he’d asked her to be. 

Dean got to his feet and she used the sound of his chair scraping across the floor to let out a strangled sob. She thought for sure he was going to walk out, too pissed at her question, at the implied meaning behind it to stand the sight of her. He’d never wanted anyone to sacrifice themselves for him and she’d just admitted she’d have done it. 

She shoved her chair back forcibly as she stood up, it slid back and toppled over so she shouted over the commotion. “You fucking left me!” she accused unashamedly crying. “And I don’t feel like I ever got up off the floor. It didn’t matter where I went, I was always on that _fuckin’ _floor.”

Dean rounded the table and she braced herself for an onslaught of abuse, a lecture on how truly fucked up she was for wanting to be a demon for him. He didn’t break his stride he rushed at her, slipped his arm around her waist and one behind her head as he crushed his lips against hers. 

Y/N melted against him and he guided her back until her butt hit the edge of the table. He put all his weight on her trapping her between his body and the table. The kiss intensified and she moaned into his mouth. 

Her hands clawed up his torso under his Henley and rumbling growl rose up from his chest when she broke away to pull it over his head. 

He took a step back to give him room to tear the shirt over his head and threw it aside as Y/N stripped herself of her own. “You’re not gonna run away again after right?” 

“No,” she told him hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and yanking him to her lips again.

Dean pulled away once she’d unfastened his jeans. He moaned as she trailed kisses and nibbled along his jawline and neck. “What about after we end the curse?” 

She pushed his jeans down his hips to free his hard cock and continued to kiss him. “Y/N don’t ignore me. What about when the curse is broken?” 

“Jesus, Dean,” she sighed exasperated gripping his dick in her hand. “Did you always talk this much?” 

He inhaled to throw a snappy retort back but she pumped him fast and tight and he lost his breath. 

“Whoa! Whoa!” Sam exclaimed entering through the garage door and quickly turning his back. “Can never unsee,” he groaned under his breath though loud enough to hear. 

“Sam, shit,” Dean reprimanded fixing himself back into his jeans.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Sam. “But Rowena has a cure I thought you’d want to know.”

Dean found their discarded shirts and they both redressed before telling Sam it was safe to turn around. 

“So get this –” Sam threw into the conversation he’d had with Rowena, how easy it was to break the curse when you’d been around as long as she had. “And we have all the stuff we need right here,” he finished before he quickly strode off to collect what he needed. 

“Did he even come up for air just now?” Y/N asked as Sam disappeared around the corner. His enthusiasm and valour had always been contagious and she felt a broad smile creep on her face. 

She turned to look at Dean for his answer and found him staring at her. She saw his relief and sincerity as he leaned over the small space between their chairs and kissed her softly. He smiled half-heartedly when he pulled back. “I promise to get you off that floor, for good, _if _you stick around.” 

Y/N had no doubt he’d pick her up and dust her off, and he’d succeed in keeping her upright, for a while at least. However, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she’d end up back on that floor, trying to crawl after him, every fibre of her being itching to be with him. Still, she grinned and moved in closer, her lips brushed his as she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

*-*-*-*-*

**Lyrics for Inspo**

I’m lyin’ here on the floor where you left me

I think I took too much

I’m crying here, what have you done?

I thought it would be fun

I can’t stay on your life support, there’s a shortage in the switch

I can’t stay on your morphine, ‘cause it’s making me itch

I said I tried to call the nurse again but she’s being a little bitch

I think I’ll get outta here, where I can

Run just as fast as I can

To the middle of nowhere

To the middle of my frustrated fears

And I swear you’re just like a pill

'Stead of makin’ me better, you keep makin’ me ill

You keep makin’ me ill

I haven’t moved from the spot where you left me

This must be a bad trip

All of the other pills, they were different


End file.
